The Wedding Planner
by Cassie-Black1
Summary: Finding himself trapped into marriage with Ginny, Harry is overwhelmed by her extravagant plans for their 'big day'. Hiring Serpentine Events to co-ordinate seemed like a good idea at the time, but neither bride nor groom could have imagined what the outc
1. The Ceremony

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to JKR and Warner Bros - I'm just allowed bring them out to play now and again!

Harry turned to watch Ginny as she walked down the aisle and realised, with a start, that he felt nothing. Her dress was beautiful, her hair lovely; she looked very pretty, and yet despite all this, Harry remained unmoved.

She gave him a warm smile as she drew nearer, but even the fullness of her red, pouty lips, that had once fuelled many a fantasy, now left him cold.

Harry returned the smile immediately, twisting his lips into a mockery of the genuine expression. This was something that came very easy, a skill he had been forced to hone in the ministry-function-filled days that followed his defeat of Voldemort. Then, he had been trotted out at will, forced to make nice with complete strangers. The fake smile had become his shield in those days, protecting the reality of his true feelings from people he didn't want them exposing to, and who probably wouldn't care anyway.

He couldn't help but wonder when it was that his girlfriend had fallen into that category.

Before Harry could give that thought any consideration, the Minister began speaking and he was forced to face the front and at least pretend to be paying attention.

o0o

As Harry watched Blaise and Luna exchange their vows, he was filled with an unidentifiable ache. He wasn't sure exactly what caused it. It could have been the dreamy expression, so filled with love, which lit up Luna's face like a summer's day. Or it could have been the tenderness in the once-cynical Slytherin's voice as he promised to love his bride for all eternity.

Whatever it was, standing there in a room full of his friends and loved-ones, Harry couldn't remember a time when he had felt lonelier. Being surrounded by happy couples, in functional relationships, just further crystallised for Harry how truly shallow his and Ginny's relationship had become.

They had been together, on and off, for almost four years. It had been common knowledge during their time at Hogwarts that Ginny had had a major crush on her boy-hero. Harry had humoured her in a manner befitting that of an honorary older brother, never for one moment considering her in a romantic light.

Firewhisky had a lot to answer for, Harry decided. If only he had stuck to butterbeer at the celebrations following his defeat of Voldemort then he would never have gotten himself into this situation. For some reason, and Harry rather suspected it was Ron's nagging, Harry had thought it a good idea to consume vast quantities of the wizarding liquor that night and, as a consequence, had woken up in Percy's old bedroom at the Burrow with a very naked Ginny beside him.

Being the noble Gryffindor that he was, Harry couldn't bring himself to tell her that, not only could he barely remember their drunken coupling, but that it meant nothing to him. Plus there was the 

added incentive of her six older brothers, several of whom were likely to take offence at him deflowering their little sister and then abandoning her.

So that had been the start of their relationship, and almost four years down the line, Harry was about as emotionally invested in it now as he had been then.

To start with it hadn't been too hard. Ginny was an attractive girl, one who was eager to please the Boy Who Lived, and Harry was your average red blooded teenage male. He had come to love her over time, but it wasn't the passionate devotion of Bill and Fleur, or the gentle, unspoken adoration of Hermione and Theo. He felt about her the same way he felt about Luna and Hermione – almost like a sister

They had had many volatile break-ups over the years, most of them due to Harry's refusal to commit further. He lived alone at Grimmauld place and liked it that way, thank you very much. Ginny on the other hand, was still living at the Burrow, and as the only Weasley child still in the family home, found herself the focus of all her mother's attention.

Their last break-up had happened only weeks before, and had it not been for a rather alarming one-night stand that he had had during that time, Harry rather suspected that would finally have been an end to it.

Not satisfied with the mere prospect of living together anymore, Ginny now had her heart set on marriage. The very fact that their first public outing since the reconciliation happened to be at a wedding had Harry very much on edge.

A/N - This is a plot bunny I have had floating round in my head for quite some time now. I have borrowed the title, and the tiniest portion of the plot from the film of the same name. Following chapters will be much longer - probably about 10 in all - but I just wanted to see what kind of reaction it got!!


	2. The Reception

Draco paused outside the entrance to the marquee and settled his new dress robes with well-practiced precision. A quick touch of his hair assured him that all was as it should be, and pulling his shoulders back, he entered the pavilion.

Draco moved with the casual grace of one who was well aware of the effect they had on others. He paid no heed to the looks sent in his direction. They were either from deluded witches who seemed to think that the fact he preferred men didn't apply in their case, or from people who still saw only his surname and, by default, his father.

He was far too busy scanning the room to pay them any attention. His grey eyes narrowed as they took in every last detail of the reception, ensuring everything was as it should be. Not only was it the most important day of one of his best friends lives, but it was also his professional reputation under scrutiny.

It wasn't that Draco didn't have the utmost confidence in Pansy's abilities. It was just that he was a perfectionist, and, if his business partner was to be believed, something of a control freak. Draco preferred to think of it as simply attention to detail. He and Pansy hadn't built up a successful (and lucrative) event management company by resting on their laurels.

As best man, he had been forced to take a step back from the organising today, but that didn't mean he had relaxed the reins totally. Of all the functions that they were called upon to organise, Weddings were the ones fraught with the most potential pitfalls. The seating plan alone was a minefield. Especially at this one, considering the wedding party consisted of, not just the Boy Who Lived, but also the children of several notorious Death Eaters.

In addition, the guests themselves were a challenging mix of ex-Slytherins and Gryffindors, with a few Ravenclaws thrown in to hopefully dispel any hostility.

As Draco watched Blaise gently guide his new wife around the dance floor, he found himself marvelling, once again, at the turn his and his friends lives had taken.

When his father had been imprisoned at the end of his fifth year, Draco had felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his world. He had arrived home for the summer and loudly informed anyone who would listen of his hatred for all things Gryffindor, and of Harry Potter in particular.

When only days later, his mother had informed him that she had spoken with Dumbledore and they were changing sides, he had shouted, screamed, and refused to come out of his room for almost a week. When he had eventually emerged, he had meekly agreed to go along with his mother's demands. This was mainly because, well, if people thought Lucius Malfoy was scary, then it was only because they had never incurred the wrath of Narcissa.

Draco had returned to school that autumn fully expecting to be an outcast in his own house, only to be stunned when the larger portion of Slytherin had followed his shift of allegiance - some of them in defiance of their families.

He was then pulled from his musings by the sound of the Master of Ceremonies inviting the rest of the bridal party to the dance floor. Draco realised with a sickening lurch that, as best man, he was required to partner the chief bridesmaid, or more specifically, Ginny Weasley.

He quickly snatched a glass of champagne off a passing waiter and gulped it down in one. Steeling himself for what he fully expected to be excruciating agony, he made his way to the dance floor, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with Pansy, who he just knew was smirking wildly at his discomfort.

Ever the gentleman, Draco held out his hand to the waiting redhead and gently led her into position. As the strains of a Strauss waltz filled the room, he was pleasantly relieved to discover that the 'Weasley girl' did appear to know her way around the steps.

He doubted very much that she had honed her skills in this department whilst dating Potter, who was as famous in polite circles for his two left feet as he was for killing Dark Lords.

Suppressing a snort, Draco settled in for several long minutes of uneasy silence. However, fate wasn't that kind to him. For some reason, the Weaselette, who had never really managed to be civil to him, seemed to find it necessary to fill the awkward silence with small talk. Draco made polite noises of acknowledgment and prayed that she would take the hint.

When she began enthusing about the days arrangements, Draco paid a little more attention. He was never one to let personal dislike get in the way of a good compliment. His ears pricked up further when she began talking about what she wanted for her own wedding.

Draco was a little confused by this. He hadn't heard anything of Potter's engagement. As a matter of professional interest, he always paid close attention to the society pages of the Prophet; you never knew when an opportunity would present itself. Surely, if the Boy Who Lived had announced his intention to marry, thus breaking the hearts of his adoring fans, it would have made headlines.

Draco cast his eyes round the room until he caught sight of Potter, who was busy twirling Hermione and Theo's small daughter around in his arms. Draco allowed himself a small smile at this. Not at Potter, but at Sophia, who really was quite adorable, considering she was a small child and the offspring of an annoying, bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Draco usually didn't have any time for children, but he made an exception for his goddaughter, even if that honour was slightly marred by the fact that he had to share it with Potter.

The dance finally came to an end, but the Weaselette showed no signs of ending her questioning. In the end, Draco produced his business card and politely told her to make an appointment if she wished to discuss it further. He knew it would be a big coup for them if they were to arrange the wedding of the wizarding world's saviour, to the daughter of the Minister for Magic. However, the conversation had gone on long enough and there were some things that even his professionalism couldn't over come - a dislike of all things Weasley being one of them.

Moving away from the dance floor, Draco smirked at the sight of Pansy, leaning against the bar, chatting intimately with one of the young waiters. He really would have to talk to her about not fraternising with the help; they had standards to maintain after all.

He shook his head in amusement. Pansy wasn't just his business partner, she was also his best friend and the closest thing to a sister he had. It had always amused him at school when people assumed that they were dating. Much as he loved the girl, she was just that, a girl. And even if it wasn't for the all important gender issue, Pansy was far too much like him for Draco to ever consider a relationship. Not that any of this stopped Narcissa from hoping, and hinting heavily, that they might marry one day.

He was so busy scrutinising the arrangements, that Draco didn't notice Harry Potter approaching until he had almost fallen over the other man.

"Careful, Malfoy."

Draco snapped his head round, a glare firmly in place. The biting retort he had prepared died on his lips when he caught sight of the beaming toddler in Potter's arms.

"Potter," he acknowledged stiffly. A warm smile then crossed his arms as he turned to look at his goddaughter. "Hello, Sophia. Is Potter looking after you?"

The small face screwed up in confusion and Draco found himself having to rephrase the question. "Is Uncle Harry looking after you?"

Sophia's expression cleared and she grinned happily. "Yes. Me and Uncle Harry danced. It was fun." And to illustrate just how much fun had been had, the small girl began bouncing up and down in her godfather's arms.

"You look very pretty today."

"I's a bridesmaid," she lisped proudly. "Like a big girl."

Draco smiled broadly and mentally cursed cute little girls that brought his latent Hufflepuff genes. "That's a lovely dress. Maybe you can wear one like that to your Uncle Harry's wedding."Sophia's eyes widened in excitement and she turned to look hopefully at her godfather. "Please, Uncle Harry. Can I?"

Harry fought to hold onto the squirming girl. "Of course, pumpkin. But it won't be for a long time yet."

"That's not what I heard, Potter." Draco couldn't resist it; he had spent too many years provoking Potter to stop now.

"Well, you heard wrong, Malfoy. So you're wasting your time if you're touting for business."

Draco huffed. "Hardly. We have a long and prestigious client base and have no need to 'tout' as you put it. It was your fiancée who was very keen to retain my services."

Draco was pleased to see how his words discomforted the other man, despite his best efforts to hide it.

"I think you're mistaken, Malfoy. I can assure you there is no wedding."

He watched as Potter strode away, and waved cheerfully at his goddaughter as she peeked at him over Potter's shoulder. Nothing had ever cheered Draco up as much as aggravating Potter could.

"You look happy. That must mean you've upset someone."

Draco turned in the direction of the voice and found himself faced with a smiling, and heavily pregnant Hermione Nott. Not for the first time over the years, Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was no longer Granger - Gryffindor know it all, this was Hermione - Theo's wife.

"It was completely inadvertent, I assure you," he replied smoothly. "I was simply congratulating Potter on his forthcoming nuptials."

Draco watched the expression on Hermione's face with pleasure. It was an expression that she always wore upon finding out that someone knew something that she didn't, and Draco always delighted in being the one to cause it.

"Harry and Ginny?" she questioned, clearly stunned by the news. "I-I didn't know."

Draco grinned. "I wouldn't feel too bad about that if I was you. As it turns out, neither did Potter."

"Ginny?" she asked, comprehension showing on her face.

Draco nodded before gazing across the dance floor to where the couple in question appeared to be having a heated debate.

"You might want to go rescue Sophia from Potter. That looks like it's about to get heated."

Hermione took one look at Ginny's red face and Harry's moody expression, and hurried over to liberate her daughter from the arms of her increasingly agitated godfather.

Several hours later and the guests were assembled to watch the bride and groom as they left for their honeymoon. Draco couldn't help but smile at the memory of just how close Blaise had come to spending two weeks in Scandinavia, hunting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. It had taken all of Draco's persuasive charm to persuade the bride that two weeks on the Italian Riviera would be much more appealing.

From then on, the evening began to wind down. Those guests with children departed soon after the newlyweds, followed shortly by a rather tense looking Potter and Weasley. When the band wound up for the evening, and the majority of the guests had drifted home, Draco decided that it was time he seek his own bed.

Casting his eye around the marquee, he realised that Pansy was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he couldn't remember having seen her for sometime. After noticing that a certain barman was also conspicuous by his absence, Draco headed outside in search of his errant partner.

He didn't have far to go. Just round the back of the marquee, in fact. Pansy had the young man pressed firmly up against the side, held in place by the nearness of her body. And as Draco got nearer, he was slightly revolted by the sight of his friend's tongue probing her partner's mouth eagerly.

He cleared his throat, and got no response. He considered a number of delicate ways to gain her attention, but in the end he settled for grabbing hold of her arm and simply pulling her to one side.

"Pansy, darling. I know you have needs, but must you indulge them so publicly, and with the help too?"

"Jealous, Draco?" She smirked in return, and Draco resisted the temptation to slap her!

"Hardly. Unlike you, I have standards."

"Hmm. And do these standards happen to have green eyes and a prominent scar?"

Draco took a deep breath before replying; now was not the time to get into this. "You're deluded," he replied calmly.

"And you're in denial," Pansy replied with a teasing grin.

Choosing to ignore that, Draco got to the point of his interruption. "I'm leaving now. There's barely anyone left. I'll be round your place tomorrow, so do try and be conscious by noon."

"I'll try," Pansy said, in a tone that didn't hold out much hope for the possibility.

"See that you do." Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Goodnight, Pans. Be safe."

"I'll be fine," she replied airily. Then, as she saw the expression on her friend's face, Pansy decided to put him out of his misery. "He was in Hufflepuff," she confided, as if this should explain everything, and strangely enough, from the look on Draco's face, it did.


	3. Aftermath

When Harry woke up the next morning, he cracked one bleary eye open and then promptly shut it against the bright light streaming through his window. Stretching out a tentative arm, he was relieved to find that the other half of his bed was unoccupied.

He reached blindly for his wand. As his fingers curled around the familiar wood, he aimed it towards the offending light source, and shut the curtains with a quick 'swish and flick'. Finally able to bear it, he rubbed at both eyes tiredly and then opened them.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was already past 10 o'clock. Pulling the covers off, Harry stumbled from his bed in the direction of his bathroom. He reached into the shower and turned it on, stepping back just in time to avoid being soaked by the multiple jets of water that shot out.

As he waited for the water to heat up, he took a quick look at his reflection in the mirror. There was a faint purpling to his left cheek, almost the exact size and shape of Ginny's left hand. Harry's jaw clenched involuntarily when he thought of his girlfriend.

After they had Apparated home from the wedding, Ginny had followed him to Grimmauld Place, clearly intent on continuing their 'discussion'. Harry had tried to explain calmly to her that he didn't feel ready to commit any more than they already were and, that considering the number of break-ups they had had, marriage should be the last thing on either of their minds.

Ginny possessed of the fiery temper that her red hair indicated, had promptly slapped his face smartly. This had then prompted Harry to lose his temper and come back with, "And you wonder why I don't want to marry you." Looking down at his chest, Harry could still see the angry red welt from the Stinging Hex that he had earned with that particular remark.

He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on unpleasant memories. Besides, it wasn't as if rows of that nature were unusual for him and Ginny.

Harry showered quickly, revelling in the feel of the jets of velvety-soft, hot water easing his tired muscles. Towelling himself dry, he pulled on the nearest pair of jeans and made his way downstairs, bare-chested and footed.

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was much the same as it always had bee. A little cleaner maybe, but there were times when Harry could almost see Dumbledore and the rest of the Order seated around the large table.

One change that had taken place over the years was that Kreacher was no longer in residence. The surly old elf had died not long after the defeat of Voldemort. Despite the elf's ardent desire to have his head mounted in the hallway alongside his forebears, Harry had no intention of giving in to such demands. Besides, that rather unpleasant aspect of decoration had been among the first things to go when he redecorated.

Not that Harry remained without the services of a House-elf for long. Once word spread about Kreacher's demise, a very excited Dobby had turned up on the doorstep, begging to be allowed to serve 'his Harry Potter'. As fond as Harry was of the elf, the thought of having the excitable small creature in his house, and under his feet, was not something he relished.

After he managed to persuade Dobby that he would not feel right having him as his servant, not when he enjoyed his freedom so much, the elf had then returned with Winky in tow. The female elf had looked at him with such hopeful eyes, that Harry didn't have the heart to refuse. And so it was that Harry found himself in possession of a new, and much more devoted, house-elf - much to Hermione's disgust.

Winky was already very busy in the kitchen. It had taken a while for her to get used to the Muggle 'contraptions' that Harry had had installed, but she was quite comfortable with them now, and was currently busy loading the washing machine.

"Morning, Winky." Harry smiled at the elf as he snagged some toast off the table.

"Morning, Sir."

Harry had spent weeks training Winky out of calling him Master; Hermione may just about tolerate him keeping a house-elf, but if she ever heard one addressing him as Master, well, Harry knew he would never hear the end of it. Unfortunately, Winky could only be persuaded to call him Sir as an alternative. Anything else had the elf ironing her own ears.

"Is there any coffee?"

The small creature nodded and shuffled over to the counter to pour him a cup. "There you are, Sir."

Harry gratefully took hold of the steaming cup and drank deeply, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction as the aroma of freshly ground beans hit his senses. When he finally finished his drink, he noticed that Winky was still looking at him, a slightly nervous expression in her big eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked, knowing that directness was the best way where the edgy elf was concerned.

"You has a visitor, Sir. In the sitting room."

Harry could tell from the look of faint disapproval on Winky's face, exactly who his visitor was. For a girl who had grown up without servants, and with very little money, Ginny had taken with startling ease to ordering Winky about. And the elf had perfected a number of expressions which let Harry know exactly how she felt about the redhead, without her actually having to voice them and then punish herself.

Harry poured himself another cup of coffee; he was going to need all the help he could get if he was going to have to deal with an angry Ginny at this early stage of his day. He made his way, wearily, upstairs, in the direction of the sitting room.

The hallway of Grimmauld Place no longer echoed to the virulent screams of Mrs Black; she was another victim of Harry's remodelling. Not that the old woman had gone all that willingly. But she had taken one look at the gleam in Harry's eyes as he approached her, sledgehammer in hand, and she had promptly released the Permanent Sticking Charm, and dropped to the floor.

The doorway to the sitting room was open and Harry could see Ginny as she perched on the edge of one of the plush sofas. He stood for a moment in the doorway and observed her. The soft green of her robes really suited her colouring, bringing out her hazel eyes. Her thick auburn hair swung loose almost to her waist, and the sunlight, streaming through the window, glinted off it, giving it an almost golden hue.

She really was a very attractive girl, Harry realised. If only he could translate that aesthetic appreciation into an emotion that was not familial in its origins. His entire life, Harry had dreamt of having a family of his own. Of having the kind of loving relationship that everyone told him his parents had had. Of having adorable children and giving them the kind of childhood he could only have ever dreamed of. And here was a girl who was willing to give him all that, but it just wasn't enough.

"Ginny," Harry said, as neutral as possible. He was fairly sure a row was inevitable, but he didn't want to provoke her unnecessarily.

"Harry." Ginny got to her feet and faced him, her expression calm and confident. "I was very angry when I left here last night, and I know that we both said things we didn't mean, but I have decided to forgive you."

Harry spluttered at this. "F-f-forgive me?"

"Yes," Ginny nodded. "I realise that it had been a long day for both of us, and we were both just tired. I know you didn't mean to be hurtful or cruel, so I forgive you. We'll just put it behind us, like it never happened."

Harry could feel the familiar flicker of anger building inside him. "I don't know how easy it will be to forget, Gin," he answered coolly. "This bruise on my face is a pretty good reminder."

Ginny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know I didn't mean that. But you just make me so mad sometimes; you're so stubborn."

"So you're saying it was my fault then? Because I wouldn't let you pressure me into getting married?" Harry's voice was dangerously calm, but Ginny had never been particularly sensitive enough to pick up on these signals.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Harry. You make it sound as though I had a wand to your temple. We were at a wedding, and I was dancing with the man who had planned it. I was simply picking Malfoy's brains for when the time comes."

"Picking his brains? You told him we were getting married, for fucks sake."

"Well, we will one day. And don't use that language, Harry. You know I find it coarse."

Harry ran his fingers through his damp hair, desperately searching for something to say that would not escalate this conversation into a full-on battle.

"Gin, I told you last night, I'm not ready to get married."

"I know that," she answered, stepping closer and taking hold of his hand. "I know I need to give you a little time to work on your commitment issues. Mum explained things to me last night."

"You discussed this with your mum?" Harry wanted the floor to open up and swallow him right there and then. Apart from being his girlfriends and his best friend's mother, Mrs Weasley was also the closed that he had ever come to a maternal figure in his life, and the thought that Ginny was discussing the intimate side of their life with her, well, it made him want to curl up and die, frankly.

"Well, of course I did. She's my mother; who else would I talk to about it. It's OK, Harry, she had some very good advice. She said that what I should do is…" Ginny stopped here and looked at her boyfriend speculatively. "Well, it doesn't really matter what she said. The main thing is that I'm going to give you some space to work out what it is you want."

Ginny raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I'll be seeing you," she said, smiling as she stepped towards the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames, leaving a very confused man behind her.

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Despite having told Pansy he would be at her house by noon, it was nearer one o'clock when Draco turned off Diagon Alley in the direction of the new Wizarding complex where his friend lived. He had learnt a long time ago that his best friend, and business partner, had a somewhat flexible approach to time keeping, and had found it always best to arrange things for a far earlier time that was needed.

Draco himself still lived in the familial home in Wiltshire, but whenever he visited Pansy in her new flat, he found himself very tempted by the sleek, modern lines, and the convenience of it's location. Not that he'd tell his mother that, she would have a seizure at the very suggestion of him moving out of the Manor.

Pansy's wards had long been keyed to Draco's magical signature, which was a good thing, as Pansy was usually in bed, or unconscious, when he arrived, and so in no fit state to be answering the door.

A quick look around the flat had Draco's aristocratic nose wrinkling in disgust. Modern living was one thing, but clearly, there was a lot to be said for the old ways, and house-elves. There wasn't a surface in the living room that wasn't covered in empty bottles, half-drank glasses of wine, overflowing ashtrays or random articles of clothing.

With a quick flick of his wand, Draco pulled back the curtains, allowing light to flood in and further illuminate the disaster area. Another flick and the windows were open, allowing the stale air to escape, and fresh air to circulate around the room.

A snap of his fingers and a wide-eyed house-elf appeared at his feet.

"You is calling, Master Draco?"

"Yes, Tilly. Do something about this mess, would you? Oh, and could you see about some coffee - better make it black, and strong."

The elf nodded frantically and set to work straight away. She was fairly familiar with the layout of Pansy's flat, having been called over on this errand numerous times before.

Draco left the elf to her work; he followed the trail of discarded clothing in the direction of the bedroom, hoping against hope that last nights entertainment had already left. There had already been too many unpleasant scenes when he had been forced to remove reluctant men from his friend's bed.

Draco pushed the bedroom door open with a bang, and noted with relief, that there was only the one humped shape under the bedclothes. He repeated his earlier motion with the curtains and windows, before turning his attention to the slumbering body in front of him. He reached out and pulled the covers off the bed, revealing Pansy's naked form. Without flinching, Draco aimed his wand and muttered, "Aguamenti."

He had barely counted to three before a piercing shriek filled the air. "Draco! You bastard!"

A moment later and Pansy realised her naked state, her hands trying to preserve her modesty. Draco simply chucked a towel in her direction. "There's no need for false modesty, Pans. It's nothing I haven't seen before, and we both know it doesn't interest me."

"Still," she protested. "I'm all wet now."

"What can I say," came Draco's lazy drawl. "I may be gay, but I still have that effect on the ladies."

A soaking wet pillow hit him full on in the face. "You're an arse."

Draco smirked. "No. I'm an arse man," he corrected. "Go have a shower and make yourself human. Oh, and take this." He held out a small glass vial. Pansy grabbed onto it as if she had just been handed the key to Gringotts.

"Hangover Potion. You're a lifesaver." Pansy uncorked the bottle and downed its contents in seconds, before heading in the direction of her bathroom.

"We'll have lunch on the terrace when you're done, so don't take long."

Pansy simply nodded gratefully before disappearing into the bathroom.

When Pansy finally emerged from her shower, she found Draco comfortably ensconced on her sun terrace, sipping steaming hot coffee, and picking his way through a fresh croissant. She walked up behind him and slipped her arms round his neck. Leaning down, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, marvelling, not for the first time, at just how soft his skin was.

"You are an angel," she declared, curling up in the chair opposite him, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of coffee.

"Not that I'm disputing the fact, but what have I done to deserve such blandishments?"

"You cleaned. Well, obviously, you didn't clean, but you had Tilly over again, didn't you. I can actually see surfaces now."

Draco chuckled. "Someone had to clean; you obviously had no intention of doing it. I don't know how you can live in such a hovel at times."

Pansy reached out for a croissant and pulled tiny bits off to eat. "It's not always like that. I was just a little distracted last night and didn't clean up before bed."

Draco snorted at this. "Distracted is one way of putting it. Being shagged senseless is more like it."

Pansy merely shrugged. "I just have a healthy sex drive. I have to take it when I can get it, now that Anthony has gone back to his wife."

Draco wisely avoided commenting on this. His friend's on/off affair with a married man had been the source of much disharmony between them. Anthony Goldstein had been in their year at Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw. The man was an unmitigated arse in Draco's opinion, but now that he had gone back to his wife, Pansy seemed reconciled to the end of their liaison.

Seeking a change of topic, Draco reached into his attaché case and removed several slender files. Pansy groaned at the sight of them. "Not the Van Arkle's anniversary party. Not at this time of the morning." She raised her hands in mock defence.

"Morning? It's almost two in the afternoon. And we need to get cracking on this. The party is in two weeks time and we still have to persuade that walrus of a woman that arriving on a flying horse is not possible for someone of her…proportions."

"Well, don't look at me. You're the tactful one in this partnership. Besides, I was the one who had to take her outfit shopping and convince her of the benefits of black, as opposed to hot pink." Pansy shoved the remains of her pastry into her mouth and reached eagerly for another one.

"Hungry?" Draco enquired with a raised brow.

"I didn't have breakfast," Pansy replied defensively. "I'll go to the gym later."

"Of course you will, darling. Now, about the Van Arkles…"

"No, Draco. I'm not doing it. You always try to offload the horrors onto me."

"Oh come on, Pans," Draco whined. "Every time she sees me, she pinches my cheek and tries to fix me up with that god-awful daughter of hers. Even though she knows I'm gay!"

"It's character building," Pansy replied smugly.

"Fine, but just for that, I won't tell you the interesting piece of gossip that I picked up last night, while you were busy off molesting the help."

Ignoring the last remark, Pansy leant forward on her seat, best puppy dog eyes in use. "C'mon, Draco, spill. You know you can't keep a secret to save your life."

Draco grinned. "You're right, who am I kidding."

"So, tell me then?"

"It's about Potter-"

"It always is," Pansy interrupted, a knowing smirk on his face.

Draco shushed her with a look. "Well, when I was dancing with the Weasley girl, she spent the entire time banging on about what a wonderful job we had done, and how she wanted us to organise her wedding."

"Potter's getting married!" Pansy exclaimed incredulously. "From what Theo says, those two can barely be in the same room together without arguing."

Draco gave his friend another look and she quieted down instantly.

"As I was saying," he continued, "She kept asking my opinion on all these hideously vulgar ideas she has. So in the end, I just gave her our card and told her to make an appointment."

Pansy nodded in approval. "It would be quite a coup for us," she mused. "I mean, it would be the wedding of the year - the Boy Who Lived, marrying the Minister's daughter. It would make us."

"Hold on a minute, I'm not done yet," he chided. "So anyway, naturally I went to offer my congratulations to Potter."

"Naturally," Pansy murmured, a sly grin on her face.

Draco chose to ignore the interruption. "Anyway, it turns out, Potter knows nothing about any wedding. They're not even engaged, and that vile creature is going around telling people they're getting married."

Pansy snorted. "That sounds more like it. She always struck me as more of an obsessed stalker than a girlfriend."

Draco nodded his agreement. " I never could work out what Potter saw in her. Apart from the fact that she's a Weasley, unconscionably ginger, and covered in freckles, she's just such a clueless little bint. Potter needs someone who will challenge him, not some mooning fan."

Pansy didn't reply, she just smiled meaningfully at the blond man until a scowl clouded his features. "I do not fancy Potter."

"Of course you don't, darling. Now, about the Van Arkles party…"

HDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDH

Harry was sitting in his favourite chair, sipping hot chocolate and reading the Sunday Prophet, when his fire burned green, and Hermione's face appeared in the flames.

"Harry," she greeted warmly. "Are you busy right now?"

Harry lowered the paper and smiled back at one of his oldest friends. "Not at all. What's up?"

"Can I come through? Sophia's quite keen to see her uncle Harry."

"Sure," Harry nodded.

Moments later, a pregnant Hermione Nott emerged from his fireplace, tightly holding the hand of her small daughter. Sophia's feet had barely touched the floor before she barrelled across the room.

"Uncle Harry," she yelled in excitement.

Harry hurriedly put down his drink and scooped the excitable child up in his arms. "Hello, pumpkin. How's my favourite girl today?"

Hermione mock pouted at this. "And there was me thinking I was your favourite girl," she said in injured tones. Harry just grinned in reply and called for Winky.

When the elf had returned with fresh drinks for all, Hermione turned to the small creature, an apologetic look on her face.

"Winky, would you mind awfully taking Sophia to the playroom and watching her for a while."

The child in question bounced excitably in her uncle's lap. She had obviously inherited her mother's unfathomable love of the wizened creatures. "Me play with Winky," she babbled.

Winky bowed low. "Winky is taking Miss Sophia. She is being a very good child."

When elf and child had left the room, Harry settled back down in his chair and turned a questioning gaze to his friend.

"So, are you going to tell me what's on your mind now?" he asked, knowing full well what was coming.

If Hermione noticed the slight coolness of her friend's tone, she ignored it. "I was talking to Draco last night," she began.

"That must have been an enlightening experience for you. I'm sure he was just full of helpful advice on place settings and decorations, and all sorts of useful stuff."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, something she had learned during several years of marriage to a Slytherin. "I wouldn't know about that. You'd have to ask Ginny. I hear she and Draco had rather an interesting conversation about the arrangements for your forthcoming wedding!"

'Shit!' Harry cursed silently. He should have known better than to expect Malfoy to keep his mouth shut.

"It was just a misunderstanding," he mumbled.

"So Ginny didn't tell Draco that you and she were getting married?" Hermione pressed.

Harry squirmed a little; he was never very good under interrogation. "Well, yes. But it was just a misunderstanding."

Hermione just looked at him, shaking her head sadly. "Harry, what are you doing? I thought after your last break-up that you had finally seen sense; especially after what happened with you and Charlie."

Unfortunately, for Harry, he had just taken a big gulp of his drink at this point. At his friend's last words, he sprayed a mouthful of hot chocolate across the room.

"W-w-what do you mean? What about me and Charlie?"

Hermione cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then looked at her friend meaningfully.

"Harry, you're a terrible liar, always have been. Even if you weren't, and even if you hadn't just spat the contents of your mouth over me, there's still the fact that I saw you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry muttered defensively, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Come on, don't insult my intelligence. You had sex with Charlie. I know. I saw."

Harry didn't think it was possible for his face to get any redder. "I was drunk, it was a mistake."

"Well, yes. I can see that sleeping with your girlfriend's brother would qualify as a mistake."

"We were broken up at the time."

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "And then you slept with her brother, freaked out about it, and went running back to what is possibly the most dysfunctional relationship I have ever seen."

"I'm not gay," Harry declared, a little louder than he had intended.

"I don't remember saying that you were," Hermione replied calmly. "Although, you must admit that sleeping with men is a bit of a clue."

"Not men," Harry corrected angrily. "Man, singular."

"Really? So what about Justin Finch-Fletchley? You were sneaking round with him for weeks at the start of our seventh year. And don't even get me started on your obsession with Draco." As she finished speaking, Hermione cast a quick Shield Charm to protect her from the spray of hot liquid that she just knew was coming her way.

Harry did not disappoint; hot chocolate even came down his nose this time. "Fuck, Hermione! How do you know these things? I've never…Hang on, what obsession with Malfoy?"

"It's common knowledge, Harry," she replied smoothly. "Not about Charlie, obviously. But certainly about you and Justin." She wisely sidestepped the issue of Draco for now.

"Even Ginny?" Harry managed to choke out.

"She was the one who told me. She saw the two of you together, behind the Quidditch stands."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, trying desperately to process all these revelations.

"I don't get it," he said finally. "If she knows, why would she want to be with me?"

"You know why, Harry," Hermione said, her tone very gentle now. "We've had this conversation before."

"Yeah, but that was before I knew that she knew I liked men."

"Doesn't matter to her. You're Harry Potter, that's all she sees, all she's ever seen. You're the hero she dreamt of when she was little, then she met you and you became her hero for real. Ginny's been obsessed with you since before you even met; she's not going to let a little thing like your sexuality get in the way of securing the Boy Who Lived."

Harry slumped in his chair; elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "What the fuck am I going to do?" he muttered.

Hermione got to her feet and came to perch on the arm of his chair. She threaded her fingers through is messy locks. "You know the answer to that. You have to talk to Ginny, tell her the truth. This relationship you two have now, it's not healthy for either of you."

Harry nodded despondently; he knew she was right.


	4. The Wiccaning

Harry was forced to duck for cover as yet another Black family heirloom was launched at his head. The sound of the vase shattering against the wall was the final straw for his already-frayed temper. Scrambling to his feet, he appeared from behind the sofa, his wand arm extended in the direction of his irate girlfriend, who was already clutching her next missile.

"That's enough, Ginny," he stated firmly, trying to keep his tone calm

"Enough?" she spat angrily. "I've not even got warmed up yet."

Harry levelled his wand on her. "Don't make me do it, Gin."

"Oh, you're such a brave here. Pointing your wand at a defenceless woman."

Harry ran his eyes meaningfully over the destruction littering his lounge floor. "There are many things that I would call you, but defenceless is certainly not one of them. Now put down that picture frame, and get out."

"You think you can just get rid of me that easily," Ginny screamed, her shrill voice grating harshly.

"Easily?" Harry scoffed. "There's nothing easy about this. I've tried to be reasonable about this but you won't listen. It's over, Ginny. Just go, please."

"I'm not going anywhere. You can't just dump me for no reason and not expect me to get angry; I won't let you treat me like that."

Ginny's face was red with rage and twisted into such a vicious expression that Harry could barely recognise her as the girl he had grown up with.

"We've been over and over this," Harry said wearily. "Why won't you just accept it?"

"There's someone else isn't there," she demanded, the picture frame still clutched tightly in her hand. "You've been fucking someone behind my back, haven't you?"

"For Merlin's sake, no. There's no one else. I just don't love you anymore."

Ginny let out a strangled cry at this, and Harry felt a pang of guilt; he hadn't meant to blurt it out quite like that. The guilt vanished quickly as the picture of his parents' wedding came sailing towards his head at high speed.

He watched as one of his most precious possessions shattered in pieces only inches from his feet. Bending down, he picked up the treasured photograph, dusted it off and then turned to face Ginny, rage blazing in his eyes.

"Get out, now. I don't ever want to see you again."

Ginny glared at him for a moment before a smug smirk settled on her face. "It's not going to be that easy, I'm afraid."

There was something about her expression and the tone of certainty in her voice that made Harry uneasy. "It's very easy, Gin. You just walk out that door and never come back."

"You can't just wipe me out of your life, Harry. Not now."

Harry was tired; he just wanted her to leave so he could clean up the mess and go to bed.

"Why?" he asked, knowing the only way to get this over with was to play along. "What's changed?"

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, the smirk splitting her face in two. "I'm pregnant."

* * *

"A wiccaning?" Draco repeated slowly.

Theodore nodded reluctantly, already tensed as if in preparation for the explosion he expected.

"What the fuck?" Draco whirled round to Pansy for support.

"It's some sort of Pagan ritual, I believe," she offered helpfully, stirring absently at her coffee.

"I know what one is, thank you, Pansy," Draco snapped with a glare. "What was wrong with the nice traditional christening that we had planned? It was good enough for Sophia."

Theo shrugged helplessly. "Hermione read about it in some book or other."

"A book! Why am I not surprised?"

"You know, Theo," Pansy said lazily, "this is what you get for marrying outside of your own house. I doubt Daphne's even looked at a book since the NEWTs."

Ignoring his partner's comments, Draco turned back to his friend. "Does your lovely wife understand that there is less than two weeks to go, and most of the plans are already in place?"

"I'm sorry, Draco. She sent this book and some ideas for the ceremony – if you want them?"

Draco glared at the offending articles, and Theo placed them on his desk, before stepping back quickly. "I'll cover any of the extra costs, of course," he said, edging towards the fireplace.

"Yes, yes, whatever," Draco replied dismissively. His fingers tapped impatiently on his office intercom.

"Astoria, I need you to stop what you're doing and find me a priestess."

A muffled reply echoed through the office and had Draco rolling his eyes. "I have no idea; use your initiative. That is what we pay you for."

He turned back to Theo. "Go back to your wife and tell her it will be done."

Theo nodded gratefully before disappearing in a burst of green flames.

Draco rested his head in his hands. "We really need to stop working for our friends," he complained. "I mean a fucking wiccaning!"

"Poor Draco," Pansy soothed. "C'mon, I'll take you out for lunch. We'll go to that new bistro on Knockturn Alley; that'll cheer you up a bit."

"We haven't got time. I've got nine days to completely reorganise this disaster, which means that you are going to have to take over the Heyer wedding." He pushed a thick folder across the desk to her. "It's all in there. And for Merlin's sake, don't flirt with the bridegroom this time."

Pansy took the folder and huffed. "You're never going to let that go, are you? It was two years ago and he made a pass at me, not the other way round."

"Hmmm. You're just a regular man trap, aren't you?"

"You say the nicest things," Pansy replied, fishing in her bag for her cigarettes.

"Now, if only you could hold onto them, once you've caught them."

"Cruel, Draco, very cruel." Pansy lit a cigarette and inhaled thoughtfully. "At least I've gotten laid some time in living memory."

"I'm just picky."

"Yes, and I suppose there are only so many Potter look-a-likes out there for you to shag."

Draco spluttered, his coffee spraying over the desk. Casting a hasty Scourgify, he glared at his partner. "Pansy, we have been over this countless times."

"Yes, and I still think you're in denial."

"I'm not in love with Harry fucking Potter."

A discreet cough from the direction of the fireplace stopped his tirade. Draco took one look at the questioning face of Hermione Nott and let out a litany of curses that would have caused Pansy to blush, had she not been Slytherin.

"Don't let me interrupt. That sounded quite the interesting conversation."

Pansy smirked at this, while Draco flushed and headed towards the door; pausing only to pick up his cloak.

"Draco! Where are you going?" Pansy protested.

"To the devil," was the somewhat melodramatic answer.

* * *

"You've been avoiding me," Hermione muttered quietly, as she pulled Harry to one side.

Harry took one look at the determined look on her face and felt his heart sink. "Why would I do that?" he protested weakly, while shooting a wary glance in the Ginny's direction.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione replied, in that smooth tone that usually put the fear of god into most right-minded people. "Maybe because I seem to recall having a conversation with you, where we established that you were gay-"

"Bi," Harry corrected.

But Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken. "That you were gay, not in love with Ginny, and going to break up with her. Then, imagine my surprise, when I opened up the Prophet yesterday and found you'd announced your engagement!"

Harry san down into a nearby chair, his hands cradling his head. He made such a picture of despair that Hermione forgot to be annoyed. She slowly ran her fingers through his tousled hair. Harry looked up, a bleak expression on his face.

"She's pregnant; what was I supposed to do?"

"Use contraception would seem to be the obvious, if somewhat redundant answer."

"Ah, there you are, darling. I'm sorry to drag my wife away, Harry, but the ceremony is about to start soon, and Draco is already wound tighter than...well, than usual. If that's at all possible."

Hermione smiled at her husband. "Well, no social event is entirely complete without a Malfoy hissy fit of some sort. What's got him in a snit this time?"

Theo grinned. "Edward was sick all over his robes. This, as you can imagine, did not go down well."

Even Harry managed a smile at that. The idea of Malfoy covered in baby sick was certainly an amusing thought.

"Oh, the poor dear," Hermione mused. Then, seeing the surprised looks that her best friend and husband were shooting her, she clarified her meaning. "Edward, I meant. Not Draco."

Theo smiled before speaking again. "There was some kind of argument with the florist over sending the wrong colour gardenias or something. And just to top things off, Weasley hasn't arrived yet."

Harry looked quickly at his watch. "The game should be finished by now. I'm sure he'll be here soon." He held out his arms. "Let me take Sophia for a bit, while you two go and get Edward ready."

Theodore passed his small daughter into her godfather's outstretched arms. "Thanks, Harry." Then, turning to his wife, he said, "Come on. Let's go and rescue our son from the hordes of cooing women that are currently fawning over him."

Hermione took hold of her husbands arm. "We'll talk later," she said, with a pointed look in Harry's direction.

"Oh, congratulations on the engagement, by the way," Theodore said cheerfully as they headed out of the room.

Harry murmured his thanks and then watched as his friend clearly admonished her husband.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Theo protested. "Just not mention it?"

Harry smiled to himself as he heard this. He had every sympathy with Theodore, having been on the receiving end of Hermione's wrath on many an occasion.

He then turned his attention to the small child in his arms, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Hello, pumpkin," he said, lightly tapping her nose. "Are you going to stay with your uncle Harry today?"

Small chubby arms locked around his neck, and Harry found a wet kiss pressed to his cheek.

"Look sad," his goddaughter said, and Harry inwardly cursed little girls who clearly inherited too much of their mother's startlingly unnerving insight.

* * *

"Pansy," Draco hissed. "Where the bloody hell are you?"

Pansy was standing, waiting patiently by the Apparition point in the grounds of Cedar Lodge; the Notts' ancestral home. The ear-piece that Draco had insisted she wear, was carefully tucked into her handbag, along with her cigarettes.

Draco had watched far too much Muggle television, she decided. These bloody headsets were a nightmare. Just another way for him to badger her relentlessly.

Draco excelled at what he did. But in order to get to the perfection that was the end result, one had to live through, and tolerate the overly hysterical meltdowns that came with it. Usually Pansy savoured moments like this, where she had a valid excuse to slip away and take a few calming moments to herself – and have a fag, of course.

That had all ended when Draco had been seized with this new idea. He had noticed the headsets on the doormen at the Muggle club they frequented from time to time, and Pansy had been unable to persuade him that there weren't absolutely essential to the success of their business.

Possibly, in the hands of someone else, they would have been an invaluable tool, but in Draco's, they were just another form of torture for him to inflict on his long-suffering partner.

Pansy snapped the clasp on her bag shut, finally shutting out the faint drone of Draco's increasingly irate ranting. The snarky git knew exactly where she was, seeing as he how he had sent her there himself. Although, after a quick glance at her watch, Pansy decided that, godfather or not, if the Weasel didn't show in the next five minutes, he was on his own. She would leave him to Hermione and Draco's tender mercies.

Suddenly, a crack of Apparition sounded and Ron Weasley appeared a short distance away from her. In the time it took him to reach her, Pansy had already run her well-trained, appraising eye over him.

He was still wearing his full Quidditch robes, and clearly from the hot, sweaty look to his face, he hadn't even stopped to shower. It was a good thing, Pansy reflected, that he hadn't accepted that transfer to the Cannons; an orange uniform with that hair would have been just too much.

She dropped her cigarette and crushed it underfoot. "You're late," she snapped as the redhead drew near.

"Nice to see you too, Parkinson," he replied, completely unfazed by her tone.

And Pansy figured that anyone who had dated Hermione, however briefly, was unlikely to be affected by a forceful woman.

"Come on," she instructed. "You have precisely ten minutes before the ceremony starts. If I don't have you looking presentable and in position by then, Draco will have both our balls on a platter."

Ron threw a sideways glance at her as they crossed the beautiful grounds. "You have balls?" he asked, grinning.

Pansy allowed a small smile to cross her lips. "Mine are metaphorical. It's your literal ones I'd be worried about if I were you." She allowed her gaze to lower to his crotch, which did not go unnoticed by the redhead, who mentally stored that knowledge away for later use.

"What's that noise?" he asked suddenly.

Pansy strained for a moment, unable to hear anything other than the usual sounds of nature. Then her confusion cleared. She held up her handbag for illustrative purposes.

"It's Draco."

"You have Malfoy in your bag?" Ron asked incredulously, with a hint of glee in his blue eyes.

By way of explanation, Pansy snapped her bag open and allowed the irate shouts to echo around them.

"Shouldn't you answer him?" Ron asked, wincing a little after one particularly colourful invective.

"He'll tire himself out soon."

Pansy looked slyly at her fellow godparent. "So, I see Potter's finally marrying your sister," she said as casually as she could. "Funny that."

"Funny how?" Ron asked curiously.

Pansy gave a small shrug. "Just I'd always thought of Potter as gay."

Ron stopped in his tracks and Pansy wondered if she'd gone too far. After a moment of staring intently, Ron finally relaxed and gave a small shrug.

"Me too," he replied.

* * *

Harry settled his goddaughter comfortable on his lap and tried his best to concentrate on her baby brother's christening. Not christening, he corrected himself, wiccaning – whatever the fuck that was!

The excitement of the day was proving too tiring for Sophia, and it was not many minutes before she was slumbering peacefully, snuggled against his chest.

Harry gazed at his sleeping goddaughter, a warm smile on his face. He shifted his gaze slightly to look at Ginny, who sat at his side, apparently engrossed in the ceremony.

His eyes slid down to rest on her stomach. Despite the fact that it was not visible to the world yet, the very idea that there was a baby, his baby, growing inside her, just blew his mind.

One of the reasons he had been so reluctant to accept his sexuality over the years was that it would mean the loss of the perfect family he had always dreamt of. After his conversation with Hermione, Harry had slowly been resigning himself to his childless state, and then...this.

Ginny had been so insistent, so determined to have this baby, regardless of their imploding relationship. Not that Harry would ever have suggested otherwise, but he was a little surprised by her vehemence.

Despite coming from a large family herself, Ginny had never really seemed that interested in motherhood. Except as some vague, far-off concept that she would eventually experience because...well, that's what women did.

She even viewed Harry's role in his goddaughter's life as something of a burden. Although, Harry rather suspected that this was more to do with her lingering resentment at not being named co-godparent with him, than it was any particular reflection on Sophia herself.

From the moment that Ginny had told him about the baby, there hadn't been a shadow of a doubt in his mind about what he had to do. Harry was realistic enough to realise that this would likely be his only shot at fatherhood, and if that meant sacrifices had to be made, well, he was used to that.

Even with his doubts about Ginny's maternal instincts, he knew that he would love the child enough to make up for any of her shortcomings. The idea that he was going to be a father just blew Harry away. And if Ginny came as part of that package, then so be it.

He wasn't in love with Ginny, and over the last few months, she had managed to erode much of the regard he had for her. But deep down, Harry knew he did care for her, and as the mother of his child, he had certain obligations towards her.

She had been so happy when he had proposed that he had almost felt guilty at his deception. But then he reminded himself that Ginny had known the truth about his preferences since school. If she chose to delude herself, there wasn't much he could do. It was hardly the time for him to come out of the closet.

So Harry had put the diamond on her finger. Not his mother's engagement ring as he had always planned; that just didn't feel right. Besides, he doubted Ginny would have understand how much more valuable it was, to him at least, over the gaudy bauble that she never stopped admiring.

Even now, as Harry glanced sideways at her, her left hand was splayed out on her knee, ensuring that the ring was visible to as many as possible. Harry shook his head slowly and turned his attention back to the remainder of the room.

He tried his best to ignore the faint twinge in his chest as he watched his friends. Hermione and Theo had never looked prouder, or more in love, as they held their newborn son. Blaise and Luna, who were still in that blissful honeymoon period, couldn't bear to be apart from each other. Merlin! Even Greg and Millicent Goyle, trying their best to calm their boisterous two year old, looked a contented family.

He just had to keep reminding himself why he was doing this; he was going to be a father. And frankly, Harry thought, there wasn't a price he wasn't willing to pay for that.

His eyes trailed over to where Mr and Mrs Weasley sat. Molly had been ecstatic when that had told her the news, almost as much as Ginny had been. Arthur had taken him to one side and told him how proud he would be to finally be able to call him son.

Harry had felt guilty then. Not for Ginny, but for this couple who loved him as if he were their own, and were entrusting him with their only daughter's happiness.

Bill, Percy and both of the twins were all happily married already, and had been quick to offer their congratulations. Charlie, understandably, was giving the newly-engaged couple a wide berth. Something that Harry was heartily thankful for.

Ron, well, Ron was simply bemused as to why anyone would want to tie themselves down so young. Since signing for the Falcons, the youngest male Weasley had embraced his fame and become something of a playboy. Molly despaired of him every having an actual relationship, never mind settling down.

Of course, once the Weasley matriarch got into wedding planning mode, Harry had been filled with something akin to horror.

He had been hoping for a small, simple service. Possible at the Burrow, like Bill and Fleur had had. When he had suggested this, however, both Weasley women had looked at him pityingly and then gone on with planning a wedding that befitted the occasion. After all, Molly had said, it wasn't every day that the Minister of Magic's daughter married the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had quickly left the room. He felt there was something innately dishonest in having such a lavish ceremony for, what was, in truth, a shotgun wedding.

His thought had been that they would marry as quickly as possible, before Ginny started to show. It was bad enough that he was trapped into this marriage, without the entire guest list knowing it too; at least, not until it became unavoidable.

The wedding was turning into a farce, and Harry suppressed a small shudder at the memory of some of Ginny and Molly's more lurid ideas.

They needed reining in before it got out of control. And as Harry's gaze fell on the composed figure of Draco Malfoy, he decided that the efficient blond was just the man for the job.

* * *

Draco watched the ceremony with an air of smug satisfaction. Despite the tantrums and posturing he had done in face of the last minute change of plans, he knew full-well that he produced his best work when the pressure was on.

He knew he had hounded Pansy mercilessly in the last few days, but he was fairly sure that she understood it wasn't anything personal. They had known each other since the cradle, and no one understood his quirks and foibles better than his partner.

Still, Draco resolved to make it up to her, as he always did. He would taker her for dinner and a show at the weekend; he was simply dying to see Mamma Mia!

Feeling eyes on him, Draco turned his head and saw Harry Potter staring in his direction. Resisting the impulse to stick out his tongue, Draco simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and then looked away.

A few moments later he found his gaze, inexplicably, drawn back to the other man. He watched Potter thoughtfully, mulling over the recent announcement of his engagement. That news had come as something of a shock to most people who had come into contact with the volatile couple. Even Potter's close circle of friends had been surprised, according to Theo.

Draco prided himself on being able to spot a bad relationship before even the participants were aware of it. After all, he had planned weddings for enough of them, and had had more than his fair share of them, as well.

Draco had never warmed to the Weaselette, and the feeling appeared completely mutual. Even after his dramatic change of sides mid-war had put him on friendlier terms with the Gryffindors, she had remained cold and aloof, never troubling to hide her disdain.

When Arthur Weasley had been made Minister after the war, Ginny Weasley had quickly assumed an air of self-importance, especially with Potter on her arm as the perfect trophy boyfriend. Delusions of grandeur, Pansy called it.

Draco wondered to himself whether Potter was aware, that while he was marrying Ginny Weasley, she was marrying the Boy Who Lived. Surely he couldn't be that blind, even if those hideous glasses hinted otherwise.

Ever since the Prophet's announcement, two days previous, Draco had been expecting, dreading the Weaselette contacting him. For as much as the bride-to-be never struggled to hide her dislike of either him, or Pansy, he doubted whether she would allow that to overcome her nouveau riche ambitions.

Draco shivered at the memory of the conversation he had had with her at Blaise's wedding; the word tacky just didn't do her ideas justice. It was true what they said, he reflected, money really couldn't buy class.

As he watched the couple, he struggled to see what Potter saw in the woman that was compelling enough to tie himself to her for life.

She was pretty enough, Draco allowed. But Potter was not only good looking, but rich and famous to boot. He could take his pick of just about any woman he wanted, and men too, if the rumours about him and Justin Finch-Fletchley were to be believed.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Draco found that his Potter-watching spilled over into the after party. It had been his favourite pastime at Hogwarts, and it seemed he hadn't lost the knack, even now.

Say what you liked about Potter, and Draco usually did, he certainly made for an interesting character study. The man would never have made a Slytherin, Draco thought to himself as he watched Potter engaged in a heated discussion with Hermione; every shift in his emotions was emblazoned across his face for the world to see.

Draco continued to watch as the Weaselette made her way over to the pair, draping herself over her fiancée proprietarily. Ever the observant one, Draco didn't miss the sly glare that the redhead sent in the other women's direction; clearly all was not peachy within Potter's inner-circle.

He watched with a wry smile as a clearly pissed off Hermione huffed off, leaving Potter to the tender mercies of his future wife. As the future mother in law joined the discussion also, Draco found himself in the unique position of feeling sorry for Potter.

The Weasley girl alone was bad enough, but throw Mama Weasley into the mix, and Draco was shuddering at the thought of what their idea of a 'classy' wedding would be.

Eventually, Potter was left alone; obviously his input was neither needed nor desired. Draco went so far as to allow his sympathy to guide him in Potter's direction. Or, at least, that was his excuse for Pansy, should she ask later.

He stood nonchalantly alongside Potter, as if his presence was a mere coincidence.

"Malfoy," Potter acknowledged wearily. All the fight seemed to have been drained out of him by his bride to be; Draco felt cheated, somehow.

"Potter." He nodded, snagging them drinks from a passing waitress. He handed one to the other man, who regarded him with a surprised expression.

"Don't look so shocked, Potter. I have manners."

"I never doubted that, Malfoy. I just didn't realise they extended to me."

Draco gave him a cool stare and Potter took the drink, murmuring a sheepish, "Thank you."

"There. See, that wasn't hard, was it. Now perhaps you'll also accept this in the spirit it is intended also."

Draco watched as Potter fingered the crisp, white card apprehensively. "What's this?" he asked in some confusion.

Draco resisted the obligatory eye-roll. "It's my business card. I saw the announcement in the Prophet, and I thought that you could probably use a little help." He let his gaze wander in the direction of the Weasley women as he spoke, and clearly Potter understood what he had left unsaid, because he slipped the card into his pocked, an almost-grateful look crossing his face.

"I'll call you first thing Monday."

"Do that. Astoria will sort you with an appointment."

"Astoria?"

Draco tried not to dwell on the potential cuteness in Potter's face when he scrunched his nose up in confusion, just as he was doing now.

"Astoria," Potter repeated. "That's a hotel."

And just like that, Draco felt the familiar, comfortable feeling of irritation wash away any misguided sense of attraction. "She's our P.A."

At this point Draco looked across the room and spotted Anthony Goldstein, and wife, clearly heading in Pansy's direction. He knew that the break-up between them hadn't been pleasant, but surely a Ravenclaw man would have more sense than to introduce his wife to his ex-mistress.

It was the look on Pansy's face that spurred him into action.

"Here, take this." Draco thrust his glass into a startled Potter's hand. But before he had moved more than a few steps in her direction, Ron Weasley, of all people, had cut Goldstein up, and was currently squiring a relieved Pansy in the direction of the dance floor.

Slightly stunned by this development, Draco snatched his drink back and promptly drained it.

"Ron's never liked Goldstein," Potter said, in the tone of one making a confidence. "Not since he tried it on with Hermione in sixth year."

Draco merely nodded, his eyes wide in horror as he watched his best friend pressed up against the Weasel, of all people.

As if that wasn't enough of a shock for one day, Draco found himself passing rather a pleasant time in Potter's company. The other man had a surprisingly keen sense of humour, or rather, he had laughed in appreciation at all of Draco's sly observations about their fellow guests.

He was almost reluctant for it to end when the Weaselette elbowed her way between them, fixing Draco with the same glare that she had used on Hermione earlier. She affixed herself firmly to her fiancé's arm and led him away without so much as a word.

Draco couldn't resist a quick smirk in Potter's direction, and he was gratified to see a genuine smile flash across the other man's face.

"I think she likes you," a sly voice whispered in his ear.

"What's not to like?" Draco murmured, his eyes still tracking the couple's movements across the room. "Really, I don't know what her problem is. Apart from the obvious Weasley thing." Draco turned to face Pansy. "Talking of all things ginger and freckly, where's your very own Weasel?"

There was more than a hint of snark in Draco's tone, but Pansy just smiled lazily. "He's getting my cloak." The glint in her eyes told just how much she knew this was going to shock him, but Draco couldn't help but respond.

"Tell me you're not?" he demanded in horror-struck tones.

"It's just a drink, Draco. Relax. It's just too full of happy couples here for my taste."

Draco knew full well that, where Pansy was concerned, a drink rarely stopped there. It was usually followed by several more, then some drunken fumbling, casual sex, and Draco evicting the stray man from Pansy's bed the next morning. The thought of seeing the Weasel in any state of undress made him feel faintly sick.

However, he saw Pansy's nervous glance in the direction of that Goldstein prick, and he relented, keeping his observations to himself.

Now, if he could just find that rather hot cousin of Theo's. The one with the tight arse and extremely well-filled trousers...


	5. Shotgun Wedding

Draco leant back in his top-of -the-range office chair, hands folded loosely in his lap, with his most convincing expression of interest plastered on his face.

Over the course of the last half an hour, he had come to regret bitterly the moment of madness that had resulted in him handing Potter his business card. Because, although Potter himself was surprisingly tolerable, Ginny Weasley was currently living up to, if not exceeding, every pre-conceived notion that Draco had had of her.

From the moment she had arrived in their offices, one arm hanging onto Potter, the other gripping an outsized folder that was clearly bulging at the seams, Draco had known he was in for it.

Potter sat silently, a somewhat dazed expression on his face. But Draco didn't miss the slight tic of his tensed jaw as his fiancée expounded another of her outlandish ideas.

"So," Draco said eventually, seizing a break in the Weaselette's one-woman monologue. "Do you have a date in mind for the happy event? I need to know what sort of timescale we are looking at."

"Two months," Potter replied, with a meaningful glare at his other half.

Draco allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Very amusing, Potter." He turned his attention to the bride-to-be. "So, when were you thinking of."

"Two months," the Weaselette confirmed in a tight voice, and Draco realised that he could see the first cracks appearing already.

Draco mustered an outward calm that he really didn't feel.

"Well," he said, after a long pause. "That's certainly a lot sooner than I expected. A wedding like this," he indicated the bulging folder with a tap of his finger, "is usually at least a year in the planning. Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait until next summer?"

"No," Potter said firmly.

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

Potter clearly looked uncomfortable with the question and Draco scented a good story.

"I assure you that anything I am told by a client remains completely confidential." And it was true, Draco reflected. He and Pansy may gossip about it over their morning latte, but that was as far as it ever went.

"Ginny's pregnant," Potter replied abruptly.

Draco resisted the overwhelming urge to smirk. So it was a shotgun wedding. That explained a lot that had been puzzling him.

"Ah, I can see that time would be of the essence in that case. Well, we had better see what we can come up with." Draco tapped the intercom on his desk. "Astoria, could you ask Pansy to come through, please. Oh, and I think we'll be needing some more coffee."

He turned back to face his clients. "Considering the scale of the event that you are planning, I will likely require my partner's assistance. At no extra charge, of course."

There were several moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence before Pansy entered the office, a neutral expression on her face that Draco knew was hiding her amusement.

"Ah, Pansy. Would you be a dear and go through the venue files with…Miss Weasley. We're looking for somewhere available two months from now. She'll be able to fill you in on her requirements. Potter, why don't you and I discuss the financial aspects? The budget and so on."

"We're not on a budget," snapped the redheaded nightmare, and Draco struggled to suppress a smile at Potter's subtle eye-roll.

Potter gave an apologetic smile before nodding his agreement, and Draco's keen eyes didn't miss the visible loss of tension to his posture as his fiancée retreated to the other side of the room with Pansy.

Astoria entered at that moment, bearing a fresh pot of coffee. Draco took it gratefully and poured a cup for Potter first, pushing it in his direction.

"There you go. You look like you could use the caffeine hit."

Potter smiled wryly in return. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Draco took a sip of his own drink, savouring the delicious aroma of the freshly brewed coffee. "Not that I'm trying to infer you can't afford it, but I need to know that you understand just how much this kind of wedding will cost."

Potter shrugged, an ill-hidden, unhappy expression on his face. "It's not really down to me. Arthur, Ginny's father is paying for it. Money is no object, apparently."

Draco made along arm across the desk and pulled Ginny's bulging folder towards him. He flicked through the pages absent-mindedly.

"There's certainly some interesting ideas in here. Though, I'm not sure we'll be able to persuade Beaubaxtons to loan us their flying carriage."

Potter shot a quick look in the direction of his fiancée, before turning back to face Draco, an almost haunted expression on his face.

"About that," he began hesitantly. "I was hoping that you might be able to persuade Ginny away from some of her more…unusual ideas. She won't listen to me."

Draco arched a brow. "And you think she'll listen to me because?"

Potter's fingers raked through his hair. Clearly, he was still favouring the dishevelled hedgehog look, Draco reflected with an inner smirk.

"Because you know what you're talking about. This," he gestured at the folder distastefully, "is her idea of a 'stylish wedding'. She might not like you, but she will listen to you when it comes to taste. Especially if it means getting that _Lumos!_ magazine spread that she's desperate for."

Draco suppressed another grin. "You'd actually let yourself be photographed wearing that?" He tapped lightly at a picture of Prince Charming that the Weaselette had used to illustrate her ideas for her husband-to-be's wedding day attire.

Potter squirmed ever so slightly. "That was one of the aspects that I was hoping you could talk her out of." He shuddered visibly. "She's rather obsessed with the whole 'Cinderella' theme."

"You don't say," Draco commented as he leant forward in his chair. "I'll do my best, Potter."

Potter smiled gratefully. "Harry," he said.

"Huh?" Draco was a little stumped; surely Potter wasn't that egotistical that he was now referring to himself in the third person?

"My name. It's Harry. I think we're at a point now where we can use each other's first names."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at this. "I don't know, Potter. We've managed to studiously avoid such an intimacy for quite some years. How do you figure it's time for a change?"

Potter leant forward in his chair, a smile playing round the edges of his lips that drew Draco's gaze. "You're organising my wedding, several of our best friends are married to one another, and we share a goddaughter." He shot a quick glance over his shoulder before leaning in conspiratorially. "Plus, I rather think that your partner and my best friend are shagging."

Draco had been in the middle of savouring rather a large mouthful of his coffee at the same time as Potter chose to make this revelation. As a result, he choked rather violently, causing some of the hot liquid to spray on his new robes.

After a quick Cleaning Charm and a few moments to compose himself, Draco fixed a baleful glare on his client.

"Thank you for that, Harry," he retorted, pointedly emphasising the other man's name. "I'll be sure to send you the bill from my therapist for the many sessions that I'll undoubtedly need to recover from that little revelation."

"You didn't know?"

"What I know, and what I choose to acknowledge, are two distinctly separate entities. Now, if you'd be so kind as to never mention that again, or make reference to this conversation, then I would be most grateful."

Potter shrugged and grinned in reply. Draco knew what he was thinking; he had that 'Malfoy's being a drama queen' expression on his face, the one that Draco was oh-so familiar with.

Before either man could say anything further, a squeal sounded from the far side of the office, and a red whirlwind was heading in their direction.

"Harry! Look at this!" Draco was forced to repress a wince at her shrill tones. Interestingly, he noted that Potter was doing the same.

"Look! Isn't it just perfect? We absolutely have to have the wedding here."

Once again, Draco's attention was caught by Potter's apparent lack of any interest or enthusiasm for his own nuptials. He gave a cursory look at the details his fiancée was clutching. "Looks nice," he agreed flatly.

Not that the Weaselette noticed any of this. She was already focussed on Draco.

"I want this one," she said peremptorily, and Draco had to remind himself that she was a client and, as such, it really would be impolitic to try out one of his more imaginative curses on her.

He reached out for the details. "May I?" he enquired politely. Not that there was any need for him to see them to know where she had chosen. Draco prided himself on his ability to judge his clients taste, and he just knew that the Weaselette would have picked the largest, and the grandest venue on their books.

"Rutland Manor," he mused aloud. "It's a lovely house, and has beautiful gardens too. I'll arrange a viewing for you both; when would be suitable?"

* * *

"So what did you think, then?" Draco asked lightly. He was leaning back in his leather chair; legs stretched out, with ankles crossed, his stylishly expensive shoes resting on his desk.

Pansy looked at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I think," she said thoughtfully, "that we're going to be earning our fee on this one. Did you get a look at that folder of hers?"

"A look?" Draco repeated. "The bloody thing is burned into my retinas. I don't even think an _Obliviate _will remove that traumatic experience."

Pansy snickered and perched on the edge of his desk. "So why the big rush? I would have thought the She-Weasel would have wanted to milk the engagement for all it was worth."

"She's pregnant," Draco replied shortly.

Pansy snorted into her coffee. "Oh sweet Merlin! Coffee just went up my nose, but it was totally worth it. I can't believe Potter was stupid enough to knock her up."

"Don't be so crass, Pansy. They are our clients now; we have to remain professional."

"So does that mean we can't mock the hideous outfits that she wants, or the tacky theme, or the cake? You did see the cake, Draco, didn't you?" Pansy wound up on a slightly indignant note, as if Ginny Weasley's lack of taste was a personal insult."

"Yes, I saw the cake. Okay, you're right. Mocking will most definitely be allowed. In fact, I think it's the only way we will make it through this charade with our sanity in tact."

Pansy's smile stilled. "What do you mean, we? They're your clients, Draco."

"Pansy, you know as well as I do how much work is involved in planning a wedding of this scale, in such a short space of time. Not to mention the endless hours that will doubtless be spent talking the bride-to-be out of some of her more hideous ideas." Draco shuddered slightly at the memory.

Pansy grinned and then shrugged. "Why bother? Just give her the wedding she wants. It would certainly be amusing if nothing else."

Draco rolled his eyes. "As much as I would enjoy the sight of the Weaselette exposing herself to public ridicule, it will be our reputation on the line as well. Exactly how many clients do you imagine we would win by putting our names to that…freak show?"

Pansy wisely decided this was a rhetorical question. She lit a fresh cigarette and then tossed the packet to her partner.

"I'm trying to quit," Draco said, a faint flush on his cheeks.

Pansy snorted in amusement. "Since when?"

"Since my personal trainer recommended it," he replied loftily.

"Trainer? You?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I like to take care of my body."

"No," Pansy corrected. "You like others to take care of it for you. Usually buff male masseurs. I don't think I've seen you break an actual sweat since Hogwarts." She eyed her friend speculatively. "He's hot, isn't he?"

Draco gave her his most condescending look. "The fact that Julio is undeniably gorgeous is neither here nor there. This is about getting fit."

"Getting laid more like," Pansy said, with a wide smirk on her face.

"Look," Draco huffed. "When you've quite finished, can we get back to the matter at hand?" Receiving no protest, he continued. "This won't just be the wedding of the year. We're talking Charles and Di, here."

Pansy grinned; Draco's Muggle references always amused her.

"Everybody who is somebody will be there. In fact, given who the bride is, there will undoubtedly be a large quota of nobodies too. I will not stake our professional reputation on the festival of tack that the Weaselette has planned. Much as it pains me to do that girl any favours, she'll have the perfect, tasteful wedding, whether she likes it or not."

Pansy watched silently for a moment, a smile playing around the edges of her lips. "I imagine you feel a lot better, now that you've got that off your chest."

Draco merely sipped at his coffee and took refuge in a dignified silence.

"I'll help, of course I will. I'm not daft, Draco. I know how important this could be for the business." She paused here and gazed at her partner speculatively. "Are you sure you'll be okay doing this?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? You're looking at the man who got Luna Lovegood down the aisle in a classic Vera Wang wedding dress, instead of those offensive yellow robes that she wanted to wear. If I could survive that, I won't be beaten by Ginerva Weasley."

Pansy smiled wryly. "I don't doubt that for a minute, but that wasn't what I meant. I just thought it might be weird for you, organising this wedding, considering the way you feel about Potter."

"Pansy." Draco's voice was low, and an unmistakeable warning.

Pansy chose to ignore it. "You're not kidding anyone with this denial, you know? No one believes it. Not Blaise, nor Theo. No one. We watched you two for years back in school. Trust me, if one of you had had pigtails, then the other would have been pulling them. All that fighting was just foreplay at its most basic level."

"Thank you very much for that illuminating insight, Oprah," Draco snapped.

Pansy chuckled. "Oprah?" she questioned.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "I might have got satellite TV," he muttered defensively.

"You're such a Muggle nowadays, Draco. I do hope your father doesn't know about this. It's enough to give him a heart attack."

Draco snorted inwardly at this; if only Pansy knew the truth. That the once-feared Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, now spent his afternoons in front of a widescreen TV, watching reruns of Dynasty. Apparently, Alexis reminded him of Bellatrix.

However, though his father had mellowed with age, Draco knew it was more than his life was worth to divulge that little secret. He set his coffee cup on his desk with a soft sight, and gazed steadily at his partner.

"This has to stop, Pansy. Whatever I may feel about Potter, and I assure you it is nothing like you imagine, he is a client, an engaged one at that. Unlike you, I prefer my men unattached."

Pansy recognised the set of her friend's expression and wisely did not pursue the conversation further. They may have been friends from the cradle, but there were still some limits on their friendship, and Pansy was smart enough to know when one had been reached.

Ignoring the rather pointed jibe about her past liaisons, Pansy stubbed out her cigarette and gave Draco a lop-sided grin.

"Why don't we go back to my flat? I picked up a rather nice Pinot Grigio earlier, and we can order in from that Chinese takeaway that you love so much. Plus we could take a closer look at this monstrosity." She tapped Ginny's folder with one well-manicured fingernail.

Draco quickly agreed; anything to get Pansy off the topic of his supposed unrequited love for Harry bloody Potter.

It had become a reoccurring theme of their conversations, one that harked back to the uncertain days after their switch of allegiance in their sixth year. Pansy had been caught up in the romantic notion of two former enemies finding love with each other.

Draco sniffed derisively at such Hufflepuff nonsense. Sure, Potter wasn't bad looking. He had that whole post-shag look going on with his hair, and those green eyes, which, Draco was forced to admit, were rather striking. The there was that whole noble, self-sacrificing hero image, which, Draco supposed, could be rather appealing if you liked that type. Which he, most assuredly, did not.

No, he definitely did not find Harry Potter remotely attractive. Now all he had to do was convince Pansy of this. Then maybe she would stop twittering on at him about it, and the inconvenient tightening in his groin, that appeared every time Potter was around, would disappear.

It was all Pansy's fault, he decided, for putting such ideas into his head in the first place.


	6. Revelations

"I don't see why I have to go." Pansy flounced into the room, a sullen expression marring her pretty features.

Draco barely looked up from the work that occupied the larger part of his desk. "We've discussed this already," he said, patiently; after years of friendship, he was no longer fazed by Pansy's snits.

Pansy snorted derisively. "Is that what you call it? A discussion?"

Draco dragged his attention away from his work and rubbed tiredly at his face. "You always oversee the bridal fittings; I don't see what the problem is."

"Ginny Weasley," Pansy replied succinctly. "You know perfectly well that she will be the bride from hell, and that's why you're making me do it."

"Pansy, I'm a man. It would be inappropriate for me to see the Weaselette in her underwear, not to mention mentally scarring as well. It makes more sense this way; you're a woman."

"And you're gay. It's not like you'd be getting off on it."

"I can't do it," Draco replied, suppressing a shudder at her last remark. "I have to interview florists this morning, then meet with the caterers, and then there are still all the costings to go over, so that I can give the father of the bride some kind of coronary. Besides, I'm taking Potter and Weasley for their outfits tomorrow."

Pansy snorted again. "And of course it's not inappropriate for you to see Potter in his underwear! You're just hoping you get to be the one who measures his inside leg!"

"Yes, you've caught me out. That's exactly what I have in mind." Draco's tone was laced with irony. "I'm planning to molest Potter whilst the Weasel watches."

"I've asked you not to call him that," Pansy muttered sulkily.

"And I asked you never to refer to that liaison in my presence. It appears we are both doomed to disappointment."

"Git."

"Mhmm, but you love me anyway. Now, it that's all, I have a mountain of paperwork that's not getting any smaller."

Pansy rose from her chair. She got as far as the door and paused. "You know," she said lightly. "I could just encourage her to buy the most hideous dress I can find. Just like that monstrosity she showed us."

"You could," Draco replied evenly. "But we both know you won't. Why don't you just look at today as a chance to get to know the in-laws better? After all, you're dating a Weasley now. It surely won't be long before they have you married off and knocking out children like the breeding machine that all Weasley women seem to turn into!"

Pansy stomped from the room, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bastard!"

Draco grinned briefly at his partner's retreating form, and then returned to his work.

* * *

Pansy's worst fears were confirmed later that day, when she found herself trapped inside an exclusive bridal wear shop, with two excitable Weasley women, and assorted hangers on.

Brides always came to them with an ideal image of their dream dress, but most were reasonable enough to both seek, and heed the advice of the experts - namely Pansy, and Madame Solange - the couturier whose shop they always used.

Pansy had not expected Ginny Weasley to be such a bride, and she had not been disappointed. The bride-to-be had arrived clutching assorted pictures illustrating her dream dress, each as ostentatious as the last, and it had all gone downhill from there.

Mother Weasley was as bad, if not worse than her daughter was when it came to matters of taste, and Pansy knew that some serious grovelling would be required to keep in Solange's good graces after the numerous implied insults to her exquisite creations.

The bride could not be shaken from her notions of a Cinderella style, taffeta monstrosity, and dress after dress was summarily dismissed with little more than a cursory glance, or an ill-disguised expression of distaste.

With each one of the bride's complaints, Pansy couldn't help but wince, and found herself shooting apologetic looks in Solange's direction. Her salvation came at last in the form of Fleur Weasley, who had accompanied them with her small daughter, who was to be a flower girl.

Fleur herself was not to form part of the bridal party, and Pansy rather suspected that this stemmed from the bride's fear of being outshone by her, clearly more beautiful, sister-in-law, on her wedding day.

Fleur was able to soothe the Frenchwoman's ruffled feathers with exclamations of delight in their native tongue. And from Pansy's working knowledge of the language, she was amused to her the Weasley woman's apologetic, and often disparaging remarks about her in-laws.

After the umpteenth demand for 'something bigger, and in gold,' Pansy gave in and retreated to the small seating area that contained Hermione Nott and Luna Zabini. Both women were to be bridesmaids, and had already been fitted for the plainest possible dresses that the bride could find.

Pansy wasn't overly intimate with either woman, but as they were married to two of her oldest friends, she was slowly making the effort to get to know them better.

"Given up?" Hermione enquired, an amused smile playing around the edges of her mouth.

"We Slytherins are famed for our tactical retreats," Pansy replied. "I would have thought you two knew that by now."

Luna merely smiled and nodded. Hermione, however, let out a wry chuckle.

"Yes. Theo makes one every time Edward's nappy needs changing."

"Well, I can't say I blame him." Pansy's nose screwed up at the thought.

"I'm sure Harry won't do that when his baby is born," Luna commented absent-mindedly.

Hermione fixed her with a glare. "Where did you hear about that?" she asked sharply, with a wary look at the bride, who was currently being coaxed into yet another dress. "It's supposed to be a secret."

Luna turned wide eyes on her companions. "No one told me as such, I just assumed. I mean, why else would Harry have proposed?"

Pansy was forced to choke back a laugh; Luna's blunt honesty was always refreshing, and highly amusing in an inappropriate way.

"Shhh," Hermione hissed. "For the love of Merlin, don't let Ginny hear you saying things like that."

Luna shrugged unconcernedly. "She already knows. Everyone knows that Harry prefers men." She paused here thoughtfully. "Except maybe Harry."

Pansy really did choke this time; the combination of Luna's words, and Hermione's scandalised expression was too much for even her self-control.

Before either of the other women could speak, Pansy was on her feet. She could well imagine Draco's reaction if she were to be caught gossiping about the groom's predilections during the bride's dress fitting.

"I'd better get back over there," she commented. "See how they're getting on."

Hermione nodded, wisely ignoring Luna's remarks. "I'll have to go shortly," she replied. "Theo's at the Ministry, and I don't like leaving the children with the house-elves for too long."

"Probably wise," Pansy agreed. "This could take some time. You could probably get off, too, if you wanted," she added, with a small smile in Luna's direction.

The blond woman shook her head slowly, causing her out-sized earrings to sway. "Oh no, I rather think I'll stay. This is far more entertaining than anything I have waiting for me at home."

Hermione made her way over to the bride, made her apologies, and swiftly escaped, leaving Pansy to plunge, once again, into the tense atmosphere now radiating between designer and bride-to-be.

"Ow about zis one, Ginny?" Fleur suggested, indicating one of the loveliest dresses that Pansy had ever seen; Madam Solange was truly an artist.

"It's not bad," the ungracious redhead admitted reluctantly, fingers trailing over the delicate beadwork.

"You would like to try it on, yes?" Madame asked hopefully.

Pansy crossed her fingers behind her back; she had a date with another Weasley that evening, and she had an important appointment with her leg waxer to make.

Mother Weasley was clearly taken with the dress and to everyone's barely hidden relief, managed to persuade her daughter into the creation.

As the Frenchwoman's fingers settled the folds of silk in the skirt, Ginny took a step up onto the dais set in the middle of the room, and began examining herself from every possible angle in the multitude of mirrors present.

"Oh, Ginny!" Mrs Weasley clasped her hands to her ample bosom as she gasped in delight. "It's perfect. You look just like a princess."

The other women assembled all nodded enthusiastically, and even Pansy was forced to admit that the bride-to-be looked good. The cut of the bodice was such that it created subtle curves where previously there had been none, and the champagne coloured silk perfectly complimented her colouring.

Ginny was clearly still sceptical, though. She fixed her gaze on Luna. "What do you think?" she demanded imperiously.

The Weasley women, and Solange, regarded Ginny as if she were disturbed, for seeking the opinion of a woman who was clearly clueless about style of any kind. But Pansy understood the bride's reasoning.

_Luna may know nothing about style,_ Pansy thought, _but her bluntness won't allow her to lie. The Weaselette obviously knows it's the most honest opinion she'll get in here._

Luna simply smiled her dreamy little smile. "All that's missing is Prince Charming."

Pansy could have cheerfully switched teams and kissed the dippy blonde at that moment. Her words couldn't have been more perfect if they had been scripted for her.

The first smile of the day curved Ginny's lips. "I do look rather like Cinderella," she commented, her gaze firmly fixed on her reflection.

"Arry will not be able to resist you in it," Fleur encouraged.

Pansy smirked inwardly. After Luna's earlier comments, she rather thought it would take more than a pretty dress to catch Harry Potter's attention. It now seemed that having a cock was a prerequisite.

Ginny smiled at her sister-in-law. "He won't, will he," she simpered.

"C'est tres jolie," Solange assured, her skilled fingers adjusting the fitted bodice.

Ginny dismissed her with an impatient wave of her hands. It seemed that now the decision was made, her interest in the proceedings was waning. She disappeared behind the screen, only to emerge again, dressed in her own clothing this time.

She thrust the dress at Madam Solange. "I'll take it," she said decisively. "But mind, I want that embroidery on the train in gold thread, not silver.

Relived that the end to her torment was in sight, the designer readily acquiesced to this demand.

"Pas un problème," she demurred, gathering up the delicate fabric. "I will have my seamstresses begin at once."

"And I want real gold," Ginny instructed. "None of that cheap imitation stuff."

"Mais oui, of course." Solange's lips pursed slightly at the implied insult. "Nothing but the best."

As Pansy began discussions with the Frenchwoman regarding costs and timescales, Ginny disappeared off to 'powder her nose'. Mrs Weasley entered into the discussion, and Pansy was surprised to find that, away from her demanding daughter, Molly Weasley was actually a very nice woman.

She apparently knew of Pansy's friendship with Ron, and appeared to be making the effort to get to know her son's girlfriend.

"Mum!" Ginny's shriek shattered the calm atmosphere at a stroke. "Mum! Come here!"

With an apologetic look at the other women, Molly Weasley scurried in the direction of the bathroom, where her daughter was becoming increasingly distraught.

"Ginny." Molly tapped on the locked bathroom door. "Whatever's the matter, love?"

"Something's wrong." The choked sob in her voice gave even Pansy a twinge of sympathy.

"Open the door, Gin. I can't help you from out here."

"I can't."

"Of course you can, don't be silly. Whatever's the matter?"

"I'm bleeding! I think…I think something's wrong with the baby!"

* * *

It was with undisguised relieve that Draco locked up the office at the end of, what had turned out to be, a very hectic day.

He had interviewed numerous florists, all desperate for the Potter/Weasley wedding contract. Several of whom had unleashed their Iartistic/I temperament upon rejection. Of course, Draco had given them a glimpse of his inner Malfoy, and that had quickly put a lid on any of their antics; he wasn't his father's son for nothing.

That had then been followed by several mind-numbingly dull hours spent going over the costings of the wedding. The only small highlight of his day had been the look of visible horror on Arthur Weasley's face when presented with the projected costs of his daughter's forthcoming nuptials.

_Clearly,_ Draco thought, _money is slightly more of an object than the Weasley women think._

Normally after a day like that, Draco would share a bottle of wine and some acerbic conversation with his partner. But Pansy had other plans, and Draco was more than a little disgruntled to be abandoned in favour of a Weasley.

With his parents holidaying at their villa in Marseille, and the Manor resembling little more than a mausoleum, Draco made the short journey along Diagon Alley, towards the Leaky Cauldron.

If nothing else, it was always amusing to see how nervous Neville Longbottom still got in his presence, even though Hogwarts was years ago, and the ex-Gryffindor was now landlord of said establishment.

Once inside, Draco headed to one of the more discreet corners of the pub and settled down to enjoy a spot of people watching. It wasn't as much fun without Pansy there to appreciate his witty, barbed remarks, but it would have to do.

He leant back in his chair, large gin and tonic in hand, and his keen, grey eyes roved over the assembled clientele, in search of his first target.

* * *

Harry headed into the Leaky Cauldron, intent on relaxing with only a cold pint for company. He knew without a doubt that Ginny would be waiting for him back at Grimmauld Place, and, after a day spent hunting down illegal potion dealers, the last thing he wanted was to become embroiled in wedding discussions. Considering Ginny has spent her day dress shopping, Harry knew she was bound to be full of it.

He perched on a vacant stool at the bar and placed his order.

"There you go, mate. First one's on the house; you look like you could use it." Neville slid the drink over to his friend and smiled warmly.

"You're not wrong," Harry agreed. "You'd have thought I'd had enough of chasing bad guys for one life time." He paused here and took a deep drink. "How are Hannah and the baby doing?"

Neville's face came alive at the mention of his wife and firstborn child, and promptly launched into a tale of his newfound domestic bliss.

Harry, very quickly, wished that he hadn't asked. The obvious love in his friend's voice as he spoke of his wife, only served to remind Harry of what he would never have with Ginny.

IThink of the baby,/I he reminded himself, and that did help, a little.

Being a father was a wonderful blessing, but Harry was starting to doubt that it would be enough to compensate for the hollow shell of a relationship that he had with Ginny, or for a lifetime without intimacy and, more importantly, love.

Shaking himself mentally, Harry forced himself to concentrate on Neville's next words.

"So, how're the wedding preparations coming on? Driving you mad yet?"

Harry shuddered slightly. "Don't ask. I'm trying not to think about it right now."

Neville grinned. "Now's probably not a good time to tell you that your wedding planner is over there, then?"

Harry's head spun round automatically, his eyes rapidly scanning the room. Within seconds he had locked onto the gaze of Draco Malfoy.

"Shit!" Harry turned back to face the bar. The last thing he needed was to talk about, listen to, or even think about anything to do with the Godforsaken wedding. What he really wanted to do now was slink away and hide.

But Malfoy had seen him, and though they weren't exactly friends, the old hatred was long gone. He could hear a voice, which sounded suspiciously like Hermione, chiding him for his rudeness.

Reluctantly he turned once again, only to find Malfoy now regarding him with an amused expression on his face. Harry nodded in acknowledgment, and the other man raised his glass, as if in toast.

"I'll have another pint, Nev," he said wearily. "And you'd better give me one of whatever poncey drink Malfoy's having."

* * *

Draco couldn't ignore the fluttering sensation that started within him when he realised that Harry Potter was heading his way.

Initially, he put it down as irritation; he wanted to be alone, and now, here was one of his clients coming over, doubtless to discuss that infernal wedding. But, upon further inspection, he was forced to admit that the ferment within him was due, in large part, to the anticipation of Potter's company.

_Get a grip, Draco,_ he scolded himself mentally. _It's only Potter, for fuck's sake. Who cares if he comes over or not._

But as Potter drew nearer, it became increasingly apparent to Draco that he_ did_ care, quite a lot, in fact. He made a mental note to Hex Pansy rather severely the next morning; this was all her fault for putting ideas into his head about Potter in the first place.

* * *

"How could you be wrong about something so important?" Molly Weasley gazed steadily at her daughter, who was currently slumped, head in hands, at the Burrow kitchen table.

"I made a mistake," Ginny snapped. "It's not like I did it on purpose." She raised her head and glared at her mother.

"I'm not saying you did." Molly reached for her daughter's small, pale hand, but it was snatched away. "But why on earth didn't you go to a Healer and get tested?"

"I did a test," Ginny muttered defiantly. "I've already told you. I used one of those Muggle kits."

"But they're not reliable, sweetheart, you know that. Muggle medicine never works as well on our kind. The magic interferes with it."

Ginny just shrugged, an air of defeat hanging over her. "Hermione used them; she told me."

"Yes," Molly agreed patiently, "and then she went to see a Healer to get it confirmed."

"This isn't helping," Ginny snarled through gritted teeth.

"I don't mean to be harsh, dear. But I don't think you've thought about the other people this will affect. You've seen how Harry lights up at the mention of the baby. He's going to be devastated when you tell him."

Ginny's eyes widened in something resembling panic. She grabbed her mother's wrist and held it tightly. "You mustn't say anything to him." Her face was so pale that her freckles stood out starkly against her skin.

"Well, of course not. He should hear it from you."

Ginny began to shake her head. "I don't…I can't…"

It was Molly's turn to look surprised. "You have to tell him. Apart from anything else, he's going to notice in seven months time when a baby doesn't appear."

"But he'll leave me," Ginny whispered.

Molly patted her daughter's hand. "Of course he won't. Don't be silly. Yes, he'll be upset, but this is Harry we're talking about. He's not going to leave you over an honest mistake."

Ginny didn't look at all convinced, so Molly tried again. "You're both young and healthy; there'll be plenty of time for you to have children."

"No, that's just it, there won't. The only reason he's marrying me is because I'm pregnant. If I tell him the truth, it'll all be over."

"Hush now. You're talking nonsense," Molly soothed.

"I'm not! You don't understand."

"Did Harry actually tell you that?" Molly pressed, slightly alarmed by her daughter's obvious distress.

"No, not in so many words. But I know it's true."

Molly stood up from the table. "Let's have a nice cup of tea, then you can go home, have a good chat with Harry, and put your fears to rest."

Ginny spun round in her chair and grabbed desperately at her mother's robes.

"We were having a row," she blurted out. "He was really angry with me. He said it was over, that he didn't love me and never wanted to see me again. I told him about the baby, and two days later, he proposed. Now do you get it?" Hot tears began spilling down her pale cheeks, tugging at her mother's heartstrings.

"Oh, Gin," she murmured, stroking her daughter's long, red hair. "What a mess."

Ginny flung her arms around her mother's waist and buried her face in the voluminous fabric of her robes. Sobs began to rack her slender frame.

"I don't know what to do," she wailed. "I really thought I was pregnant, and now everything's such a mess."

"Shhh," Molly soothed. "It'll be okay, you'll see. We'll work something out."

* * *

"You're in denial," Harry snickered.

Draco regarded his companion over the top of his fourth Gin and Tonic. "It's not denial, it's self-preservation. I've told you, Potter, there isn't a therapist in the world who could remove the trauma of witnessing Pansy and the Weasel in flagrante."

Harry snickered again. "In flagrante? Who talks like that anymore? And I've told you, Draco, it's Harry, not Potter."

"Potter, schmotter," Draco slurred slightly. "It's just a name, don't get so testy."

"What's in a name?" Harry quoted softly.

Draco cocked on brow at this. "Shakespeare? I'm impressed, and slightly shocked."

Harry shrugged. "Stakeouts get boring, and Hermione's always on at me to read more and broaden my horizons."

Draco smirked. "I'm no Auror, but aren't stakeouts meant to involve watching people, closely, not reading 16th century prose?"

"There's usually two of us," Harry replied defensively. "We take it in shifts."

Draco merely smirked again. "So, _Harry,_ what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be at home, snuggled up to your lovely bride-to-be?"

Observant as he was, Draco didn't miss the shift in Harry's expression, or in his body language. Coupled with a few of his earlier observations of the couple in his office, Draco surmised correctly, that all was not well.

"I just wanted some peace and quiet," Harry muttered finally.

Draco stiffened slightly. "You joined me, Potter. If that's what you're after, I suggest you sit elsewhere."

Harry's eyes widened at the coolness of Draco's tone. "What? Shit! That came out wrong. I didn't mean you."

Draco quirked one finely, and professionally, shaped brow, but remained silent.

"I meant Ginny," Harry confessed guiltily. "After the day I've had, the last thing I want is to listen to her going on about wedding dresses."

Draco smiled. "Tough day saving the world, Harry?"

"Ha bloody ha, Malfoy."

"Tsk, tsk," Draco chided. "First name terms, remember?"

Harry raked one hand through his tousled hair and smiled slowly. "Sorry, Draco."

Draco had to fight a slight shiver that coursed through his body at the sound of Harry saying his name. The way the other man's tongue wrapped around those few, short syllables felt almost like a caress.

He quickly drained his glass, buying himself precious time to recompose himself. "We should get more drinks," he observed finally.

"It's your round," Harry commented, sliding his empty glass across the table.

Draco promptly slid it back, along with his own. "I'll pay, you fetch."

"Do I look like your house-elf?" Harry asked indignantly.

In the interests of keeping the fragile peace, Draco sat firmly on the numerous comebacks that were on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be unleashed. Harry had better appreciate his self-control, he mused to himself.

"If my house-elves looked as good in denim as you do, I would probably never leave the Manor." The words were out of his mouth before Draco could stop them.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and he shifted in his seat, but Draco didn't miss the soft flush that stole over his cheeks.

Mentally storing that reaction away to be examined at a time when he was thinking more clearly, Draco got to his feet. He picked up both their glasses.

"Fine, I'll go. But when Longbottom starts gibbering like an idiot, and dropping glasses because I still make him nervous, don't blame me."

Harry simply grinned in return and leant back in his chair. His eyes tracked Draco's progress across the room, lingering ever so slightly on the blond's pert arse.

* * *

Ginny waited in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place for Harry to return from work. She had already banished Winky to wherever it was house-elves went when they weren't working.

Dinner sat on the table, a Warming Charm keeping it at just the right temperature. She had wine chilling in the fridge, and the room was lit with the soft glow of candles.

The only thing marring the romantic ambience was the increasingly dark scowl on the redhead's face.

After much discussion with her mother, and floods of tears, Ginny had come up with a plan.

Actually, this was about the fifth plan she had come up with, but it was the only one that Molly Weasley could be persuaded to agree to.

Harry had to be told that there was no baby; Even Ginny had been forced to accept that. But she also knew well enough what his reaction to that would be. The wedding would be cancelled, their relationship ended, and her dreams of the perfect life would be shattered.

After much browbeating, Molly had reluctantly consented to go along with her daughter's story of a miscarriage. Even without the incentive of a baby, Ginny knew that Harry was not the kind of man to dump his distraught fiancée after the loss of a longed-for baby.

And with the commotion that she had caused in the dress shop earlier that day, she already had several witnesses who could unwittingly corroborate her story.

Ginny did feel a slight twinge of guilt at the deception, but her fears of what the truth would bring more than overwhelmed it.

All she had to do was look suitably tearful when she broke the news, and given her current emotional state, Ginny knew that this would be no problem at all.

So she had descended on Grimmauld Place, commandeered the kitchen, and cooked Harry all his favourite foods; if there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was how to cook. All had been going to plan until she noticed that time had begun ticking away, and Harry showed no signs of returning.

When finally her patience had worn out, and her temper was bubbling under the surface, Ginny set out for Diagon Alley, where she was sure she would find her errant fiancé. This drinking after work would have to stop once they were married, she decided.

Stepping into the Floo, Ginny called out the address of George's Diagon Alley flat; she didn't want to Floo directly into the pub. She wanted to catch Harry unawares, to see what, or who, was more important to him than spending time with his fiancée.

* * *

As Harry returned from the bar with yet another round of drinks, his gaze lingered on the waiting figure of Draco Malfoy, and he couldn't help but wonder at the turn of events that had led him to this point.

Harry couldn't remember when he had last felt this relaxed and at ease in company, and considering who that company was, it was even more surprising.

It had been years since their childish battles had ended. But even after Draco's dramatic change of sides in the war, the two boys had merely tolerated each other.

Even when their social circles had become intertwined, with first Hermione and Theo's relationship, and then Blaise and Luna's, Harry and Draco had always remained aloof from it.

But, Harry reflected, fate seemed determined to keep bringing them together. First as joint godparents to Sophia, and then again with the wedding. He shook his himself mentally; thoughts of his impending nuptials did nothing for his current good mood.

Harry placed the drinks on the table and slid into his seat. Draco looked up from the mobile phone he was currently holding.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Harry leant back in his chair, a smile on his face as he observed his companion.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you staring at me? Is something wrong with my hair?" Draco hurriedly smoothed a hand over his blond locks.

"Don't panic, Draco. Your hair is still as perfect at the rest of you."

Draco was not quite sure what to make of this. It may have been a perfectly innocent remark, but it sounded uncommonly like Harry was flirting with him. "So you're just admiring my beauty, then, is that it?"

Harry chuckled throatily. "I'm only human. Actually, I was just surprised to see you have a mobile. Isn't that a little…Muggle for you?"

"On the contrary, Harry," Draco replied loftily. "This is the latest must have for all professional wizards. It has an advanced Charm on it that allows the phone to still function in areas of a high magical density."

"You're quite keen on gadgets, aren't you? I saw you with those headphone thingies at Luna's wedding."

"Muggles aren't all useless," Draco allowed grudgingly. "And these phones are much easier than Fire calling - and cleaner too."

"So who's that?" Harry enquired as the phone began to vibrate again. "Your boyfriend?"

Draco's eyes narrowed at this comment, but a quick look at Harry showed nothing more than good-natured interest on his face. "Not that it's any of your business, but I happen to be single at the moment."

Draco paused here to read the incoming text message, and grinned broadly. "That was Pansy," he announced, snapping the phone shut. "Apparently she is helping the Weasel to plan your stag party."

"Considering some of the ideas that Ron has had so far, that means she is spending her evening debating the finer points of Stringfellows versus Spearmint Rhino. I'm sure she'll love that."

Draco smirked. "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen her on Blaise's stag night."

"But she's a girl," Harry protested.

"Maybe, but she's also a Slytherin, and one of his oldest friends. She would never have forgiven Blaise for leaving her out. Besides, Pansy has more balls than the rest of us put together."

"She wasn't bothered about going to a strip club?"

"She was the first one of us to get a lap dance," Draco replied.

Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing at that. It seemed like Ron might have finally met his match.

"I wouldn't have thought you would have enjoyed it much," he commented.

"Hardly." Draco shuddered exaggeratedly. "One look at Pansy's bits back at school was enough to put me off for life." He paused and peered at his companion over the top of his glass. "It's not really your scene either, is it?" he asked slyly.

Harry choked a little on his beer. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, his face flushing rapidly.

"Nothing really," Draco replied lightly. "Just that after the rumours about you and Justin Finch-Fletchley back in seventh year, I wasn't sure that naked women really did it for you."

"I'm getting married, Malfoy," Harry retorted stiffly. "To a woman."

Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Please, that means nothing. My mother still hasn't given up hope of persuading me to marry one of our distant French cousins. She's even bringing the poor girl over here this summer in the hope of convincing me."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really? But you're as gay as they come."

Draco ignored the implied insult. "That's not the point, as my mother sees it. Lots of gay pureblood men still get married. It's all about having an heir and continuing the family bloodline."

"And you're okay with that?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'll see how it turns out for you, and then make my mind up." He then sat back and enjoyed the hot flush that spread over Harry's face. Really, he thought, Potter actually looked rather adorable like that.

"It's not like I have a choice," Harry said eventually. "There's the baby to think of."

Draco nodded his understanding, and Harry felt relieved to have finally admitted it aloud, even if it was only to Draco Malfoy; at least he appeared to understand the obligation that Harry felt under to do right by the mother of his child, whatever his preferences may be.

Without thinking, Draco reached a hand across the table and lightly wrapped it around Harry's wrist, squeezing gently. As they stared unblinkingly into each other's eyes, Draco felt tendrils of panic wrap round his chest. Something about the intensity of Harry's gaze was causing him to have thoughts that were best left alone.

"I know it's not ideal," he said. "But look at it this way; you've already got your heir on the way, so you never have to sleep with her again."

The laughter bubbled up in his throat, and before Harry realised it, he was wiping tears from his eyes and panting breathlessly. "Thanks, Draco," he gasped. "I needed that."

Draco sat back in his chair, smiling in return, relieved to have broken whatever connection had been happening between him and Potter.

* * *

Ginny Weasley stood in the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron, her wide eyes fixed on the spectacle on the other side of the room.

Something about the easy intimacy between Harry and Malfoy caused her chest to tighten, and her breath to come in shallow pants. When Harry laughed, the sound made her want to cry; he never laughed like that with her, not anymore.

She turned away quickly, unable to watch any longer. Ginny had known, deep down, about Harry's preferences ever since she had seen him and Justin together at school. It was something she tried her hardest not to think about, and, for the most part, she was successful in this. But Malfoy was definitely a cause for concern.

Even at Hogwarts, it had been obvious to Ginny what lay behind Harry's animosity with Malfoy. It was like how little boys pulled the pigtails of the girls they had a crush on. Harry liked Malfoy, that way - Ginny knew that for sure. Hell, most of their friends knew that. It seemed the only person oblivious to his feelings was Harry himself.

Ginny had always dreaded what would happen if he ever woke up to this. That was why she had protested strongly about using Serpentine Events to plan the wedding. Even with Harry's ring on her finger, Ginny still didn't feel secure enough in their relationship to want to risk him spending so much time in Malfoy's company.

And now it looked like she was being proved right.

Tears fell from her eyes as she stumbled blindly from the pub. There was a loud crack as she Apparated directly into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Winky took one look at her face as she arrived and promptly scurried off to the safety of the larder.

In a fit of blinding rage and panic, Ginny swept all the dinner dishes off the table, causing them to shatter noisily on the tiled floor. She sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands, sobs racking her body.

After seeing that, there was no way she could tell Harry about the baby. She was convinced that not even the miscarriage story would be enough to keep him now. Nothing short of producing his first-born child would be motivation enough for Harry to remain by her side. Not with Draco Malfoy on the scene, looking at Harry the way he had tonight.

She roughly scrubbed away her tears with one hand, while the other slid down into her robe pocket. Her fingertips brushed against the cool, glass vial of the Fertility Potion she had persuaded the Healer to give her earlier that day.

It was time for Plan B.


End file.
